Bardos
December 11th, 2004, 03:10 PM
I generaly write in Greek, my mother language. But, for the heck of it, I decided to translate a very short piece of writing in English, to see how would it be. So, I'd very much like to read your opinion on the flow of the language, grammar, etc. Please don't pull any punches.
Here's the translation.
The campaign had failed, and he was responsible for it. Tragically mistaken, he had led his army into the claws of the enemy, and all his warriors were killed. Twenty thousand of them. But he bad lived. His head-wound hadn’t killed him, and he had dreamed strange dreams, to awake in front of a nightmare: the bodies of the slain, the broken weapons, and the blood that had soaked the mountainous earth. His head hurt; he thought someone had driven nails into his skull. But he could not return; not with this shame weighting heavy on him. His archam would be, forever, tainted before the gods. Black, like vomited belly-blood.
Stumbling in his daze, he passed between the flesh-eaters who were munching on the dead soldiers, and traveled in the wilderness. The moan of the wind was the only music for him; a music torturous as the sight he had laid eyes upon when he woke, the sight that wouldn’t leave his mind. For he wasn’t strong enough; after the doom wherein he had led his warriors, his archam had lost all its power; his will was crushed, his resistance crumbled. The Soul-devourers descended mercilessly on him, and the gods couldn’t save him from their bite. It was his fault; the gods protect only those whose archam is strong.
But, then, he found the Serene Place, and there he dwelt. In this place, near the trees, the rocks, and the spring, the Soul-devourers couldn’t visit him as often as before; something kept them at bay. And here he stayed, seeing strange dreams, that never in his life had seen before – dreams of peace and fulfillment – while a bear kept him company. When he first saw the animal, he wasn’t scared, although something from inside told him he should have been. But, in the Serene Place, the bear couldn’t be enemy. It advanced towards him and leaked his hand, and it stayed with him. They hunted together, ate together, slept together, talked together, and it never fell in winter’s sleep; indeed, the Serene Place seemed not to be affected by the seasonal changes. How long was he here? He couldn’t say; it was, simply, impossible to do so.
Here's the translation.
The campaign had failed, and he was responsible for it. Tragically mistaken, he had led his army into the claws of the enemy, and all his warriors were killed. Twenty thousand of them. But he bad lived. His head-wound hadn’t killed him, and he had dreamed strange dreams, to awake in front of a nightmare: the bodies of the slain, the broken weapons, and the blood that had soaked the mountainous earth. His head hurt; he thought someone had driven nails into his skull. But he could not return; not with this shame weighting heavy on him. His archam would be, forever, tainted before the gods. Black, like vomited belly-blood.
Stumbling in his daze, he passed between the flesh-eaters who were munching on the dead soldiers, and traveled in the wilderness. The moan of the wind was the only music for him; a music torturous as the sight he had laid eyes upon when he woke, the sight that wouldn’t leave his mind. For he wasn’t strong enough; after the doom wherein he had led his warriors, his archam had lost all its power; his will was crushed, his resistance crumbled. The Soul-devourers descended mercilessly on him, and the gods couldn’t save him from their bite. It was his fault; the gods protect only those whose archam is strong.
But, then, he found the Serene Place, and there he dwelt. In this place, near the trees, the rocks, and the spring, the Soul-devourers couldn’t visit him as often as before; something kept them at bay. And here he stayed, seeing strange dreams, that never in his life had seen before – dreams of peace and fulfillment – while a bear kept him company. When he first saw the animal, he wasn’t scared, although something from inside told him he should have been. But, in the Serene Place, the bear couldn’t be enemy. It advanced towards him and leaked his hand, and it stayed with him. They hunted together, ate together, slept together, talked together, and it never fell in winter’s sleep; indeed, the Serene Place seemed not to be affected by the seasonal changes. How long was he here? He couldn’t say; it was, simply, impossible to do so.